


Clear Blue Sky

by TheWickedWitchofDammitJim



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Air Traffic, Don't Try This At Home, Dubious Science, M/M, Search and Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWickedWitchofDammitJim/pseuds/TheWickedWitchofDammitJim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dean, at that altitude, the Hawk should start.” </p><p>“Are you googling this shit?” Dean asks, far more amused than he probably should be. </p><p>“Yes.” New Guy states simply and Dean barks out a laugh as he goes through the start up sequence again. </p><p>He’s running out of air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clear Blue Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galythia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galythia/gifts).



Dean Winchester curses as his Sikorsky HH-60 Jayhawk bucks like bronco. 

“Sam!” He yells as he wrangles the joystick. “I can’t hold this position more than… Fuck!” The joystick manages to jolt too far, taking his hand with it and sending pain lancing through his left ring finger. 

“Dean! I got her!” Sam’s voice comes over his head set as Dean manages to wrangle the joystick into a position less likely to get them crashed into the maelstrom below. “Head back while I get us winched up!” 

“No shit Sammy!” 

“Sierra Alpha Romeo six four five six, you need to get out of there!” The shrill female voice of their air traffic controller makes Dean grind his teeth. He’s gonna need dentures at this rate. “That tropical typhoon is heading straight for you!” 

“Great, thanks Jo! Maybe you could be useful instead of just telling me how bad it is?” Dean yells back. 

The joystick snaps forward and Dean can feel his stomach swoop at the new angle of descent. 

“Son of a bitch!” 

“Dean!” Sam comes skidding into the cockpit just as Dean manages to regain something like control over his Jayhawk. “She’s stable in the back…” The Hawk gives another lurch and Sam amends, “Or, as close as it can get.” 

“Great.” Dean says absently. “Radio! I lost all visual, I repeat, cannot use VFR(1)!” 

“Sierra Alpha Romeo six four five six, this is Radio Honolulu.” A new voice says. “I’m assuming IFR(2) is not a viable option?” 

“Look, Mister-Eats-Gravel-and-Gargles-Whiskey-After, this is a fucking Search and Rescue. So, no, I don’t have instruments!” 

“Dean!” Sam sounds scandalised. “Don’t antagonise the Radio!” 

“I do not…” The new guy starts. 

“Stay on target!” Dean snaps. “Can you get us the fuck out of here or not?” 

“Yes.” 

“Awesome. Wanna start on that?” 

“The satellite imaging is obscured.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” 

“Because radar is much harder to use.” Crowley’s voice comes over the radio. “It’ll be a miracle if this bairn(3) can get you out of there.”

“Not. Helping. Crowley.” 

“Sierra Alpha Romeo six four five six,” New Guy comes on again, “you need to turn 37 degrees north. I will be trying to bring you in to Wheeler.” 

“Wheeler? That’s a fucking Army base!” Dean bitches even as he adjusts his course. 

“It’s your only choice.” New Guy snaps back. “Unless you’d like to spend more time in what is rapidly becoming a hurricane?” 

“Boys!” Ellen’s voice comes over the radio. “Behave! Dean, Sam, Wheeler’s ready to receive you. The base CMO will have to take care of your victim though. The entire island’s batting down.” 

Dean swallows, noticing Sam trying to keep calm and breathe. 

“You guys ignoring all the warnings again?” Sam bitches. 

“Sierra Alpha Romeo six four five six, adjust course 2 degrees east.” New Guy interrupts. “You’re five minutes out.” 

“Fuck.” Dean grunts. “Remind me to buy you a fucking beer if we get out of this alive.” 

“Ooooooooh,” Jo’s voice comes over the radio. “Dean’s got a crush!” 

“I do not drink.” New Guy says, and that’s pretty much all Dean gets before they’re hit by an updraft so strong Dean can’t keep the Hawk from following it. 

“Shit!” Sam yells. 

“Sierra Alpha Romeo six four five six? What’s happening?” New Guy asks, voice still gratingly calm. 

“Hawk’s caught in an upthrust.” Dean reports grimly. “Nothing I can do.” 

There’s silence on the other end of the radio, and Sammy’s clutching his rosary in his hands. 

“Understood, Sierra Alpha Romeo six four five six. Altitude?” 

“11 650 feet.” Dean says, setting his jaw and starting the eject frequency for Sammy’s seat. Not that that’s a guarantee of making it out alive, but it’s better than freezing to death. 

“There should be a gap in the currents at 11 800 feet.” 

“That’s 50 feet above the Hawk’s maximum altitude!” 

“I am aware.” New Guy still sounds way too fucking serene. “However, considering the speed of the winds, as well as their direction, you should be thrust into the eye of the hurricane.” 

“Are you fucking crazy!” Sam shouts. “That’s a lot of speculation over there!” 

“Yeah, I know. That’s why you’re not going, Sam.” Dean says,just as he hits the final part of the eject sequence. 

Sam’s face screams betrayal, but no way was Dean gonna let his baby brother’s life rest in the hands of that many variables. 

“Alright, New Guy. Let’s try this.” Dean says. 

“Very well. Tell me you altitude.”

“11 723…11 750… Hawk’s engine officially just cut out on me… 11 768… 11 800! The upthrust’s gone, but I got a vicious southerly!” 

“That’s fine- it should blow you into the…”

“Oh my god…” Dean breathes. “It’s the fucking eye.”

“Sierra Alpha Romeo six four five six, altitude?” 

“11 745. I’m gonna try and start her again.” 

“That would be a wise course of action, I believe.” 

“Are you always this much of a wise ass?” Dean snarks. 

“I do not believe my ass has ever been called particularly wise…” New Guy replies. Dean gives a (completely not) hysterical laugh. 

“You’re funny, New Guy.” He’s not stressing about the fact that the Hawk’s engines aren’t starting. At all. He’s cooler than that. 

“Sierra Alpha Romeo six four five six, you’re not moving.” 

“Yeah. Engines won’t start.” Dean swallows as he flips through the sequence again. “And call me Dean, would you? I think we’re on first name basis.” 

“That would be…” 

“We’re in Hawaii, the entire Roadhouse is my family. Also…” Dean takes a deep breath as he mentally runs through everyhting that could be keeping the Hawk from starting. “I don’t wanna die while being called ‘Sierra Alpha Romeo six four five six’.” 

“… That does seem a reasonable request.” 

Dean snorts. “So glad you think so.” 

“Dean.” New Guy says. “What is your altitude?” 

“5 454 feet. How many more minutes have I got in the eye?” 

“3 minutes, 42 seconds.” 

Awesome. 

“Dean, at that altitude, the Hawk should start.” 

“Are you googling this shit?” Dean asks, far more amused than he probably should be. 

“Yes.” New Guy states simply and Dean barks out a laugh as he goes through the start up sequence again. 

He’s running out of air. 

There’s a moment of coughing, dry and hopeless, before the Hawk’s engines sputter to life. Dean whoops into his headset. 

“Son of a bitch! She’s alive!” 

“That is a… relief.” New Guy does sound relieved. 

“Hey, man, I don’t know who you are, but I am buying you a beer and a lapdance! Now fly me straight, Radio!” 

“Adjust your course 75 degrees north-west. The base should come into sight in… eight minutes and thirty seconds.” 

There’s silence as Dean does as he’s directed. And then it hits him, what he’s being told to do. 

“You want me to land, get the girl out, and get under cover, all in the time it takes the eye of this fucking storm to pass over the base? Are you insane??” 

“Hasn’t everything you have done so far been insane?” 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean says as he starts unbuckling himself from his seat. “You are a crazy-ass bastard, you know that?” 

“Yes, Dean.” Says New Guy as placidly as ever. “But you are insane enough to listen to me.” 

Well, fuck. He can’t argue with that. And then the base’s tarmac appears under the Hawk, and Dean wedges the crowbar he dug out into the bottom of the joystick, causing the Hawk to start gaining altitude once more. 

“Well, Mystery Guy, here’s to hoping I make it out of this insane adventure alive. Sierra Alpha Romeo six four five six, out.” 

He lunges out of the cockpit to the back, where the girl who started all of this is stabilised. Dean hopes she doesn’t have any spinal injuries, because he can’t make a jump with the entire stretcher involved. He double checks his parachute before he unbuckles her and takes her into his arms. 

A glance at the instrument panel tells him he’s managed to get the Hawk up to 10 000 ft. 

It’s too low, really. He’s probably going to get them both killed, but this is the only shot they have. Especially in the relative calm of the eye. Then he steps out of the bay doors, and they’re falling. The chute opens, but the ground is coming up fast. 

Too fast. 

Dean braces for impact, knees bent and feet together. 

It’s not a pretty landing. He hears the snap of bones, and he knows he’s fucked. 

“Hey!” A voice says from above him. “Glad you could join us!” 

And then someone’s taking the girl from him, there’s a flurry of movement and he’s moving again. In a wheelchair. Dean glances at the jarheads around him, and the one pushing his wheelchair grins at him. 

“I’m Lieutenant Commander Fitzgerald! But you can call me Garth!” 

Then they’re descending into the cool darkness of a storm shelter, and Dean breathes for the first time since this whole shit storm started. 

\--------------------------------DCSS-----------------------------DCSS-----------------------

Lieutentant-Commander Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth is not someone that Dean ever wants to spend another minute with. 

Four hours? Yeah, that tested Dean to the very limits of his non-existent patience. 

The CMO is a baby-faced doctor called Samandriel. He’s actually surprisingly good at his job, and he swears he’s older than he looks. 

Which is about twelve, but Dean’s hopped up on pain killers, his broken leg's been immobilized and the girl’s actually woken up and started smiling, so he decides to be magnanimous and let it go. 

Of course, he still manages to get into a fight about the Air Force versus the Army until Garth tricks him into admitting his Dad was in the Navy. 

Whatever. 

When he wheels himself out of the storm cellar, the base is trashed and the radio is crackling with Jo, Ellen and Crowley wanting to know if he made it out alive. 

“Damn it, Squirrel! I just lost twenty dollars!” Crowley curses. 

“Stupid to bet against me, you evil son of a bitch.” Dean says cheerily. 

“Sam says he’s gonna kill you.” Jo adds. “Also, he’s disowning you.” 

“Ungrateful little bitch.” 

“Overbearing jerk.” Jo sing-songs. 

“Speaking of- where’s the new guy?” Dean asks as he watches the Jarheads start to clean up their base. 

“Oh, he should be there in about… five seconds.” Crowley sounds far too gleeful. 

“He what?” Dean does not shriek. But he may allow his voice to go a bit louder. 

“I think he’s smitten.” Jo snickers. “He totally barged into Bobby’s office and demanded to go with the pick-up party.” 

“Joanna-Beth! Don’t you have a job to do?” 

“Nope!” Jo pops the p annoyingly. “All aircraft are still grounded. Anyway- he’s hot. You should totally do him!” 

Someone clears their throat behind him, and Dean has a sinking feeling he knows who it is before they even speak. 

“Captain Dean Winchester?” 

Jo and Crowley both burst into hysterical laughter, and Dean kills the radio with more force than strictly allowed in basic training. 

When he finally makes himself turn the wheelchair around he can’t help but agree with Jo’s assessment. The guy’s wearing an ill-fitting suit and a freaking trench coat, but his eyes more than make up for that whole FUBAR wardrobe. 

Garth coughs and Dean starts when he realises he’s been staring… And New Guy’s been staring right back. 

“Yeah.” Dean puts on his most charming smile and holds out his hand. “That’s me- the lunatic who listened to you.” 

The other man tilts his head in a (absolutely not adorable) confused manner before taking his hand. 

“Castiel D’Angelo. The ‘crazy-ass’ bastard.” He even does the finger quotes. Physically. 

Dean might kind of want to lick those fingers a little bit. 

“You know, usually I get people’s names before I pull bat-shit crazy stunts with them.” Dean winks. 

Castiel- bless him- blinks before sighing. “My social skills are a bit… ‘rusty’.” 

Again with the finger quotes. 

Dean’s pretty sure he can teach Cas better ways to use those long, dexterous fingers of his. But before he can say anything of the sort Bobby comes in and starts reaming him out. 

Which, yeah, it kills the mood. 

But when Dean glances a look at Cas, the other man is still staring at him, and Dean figures that maybe it’ s not gonna be dead forever. 

\-------------------------------DCSS-----------------------------DCSS------------------------

“Sierra Alpha Romeo six six five six, this is Radio. Are you receiving?”

“Loud and clear, Roadhouse.” Dean grins as he starts the engine on his new Hawk. Sam is checking their equipment.

“Dean, you are aware that is not the official designation of this tower.” Cas’s voice is scolding. 

“Please- even Sammy calls it that.” Dean rolls his eyes, before snorting at Sam’s bitch face and outraged “Don’t call me Sammy!”

“Be that as it may…” 

“Hey, I’ve been out of action for four months. Don’t ruin this for me, okay?”

Cas sighs. 

“Besides, if I’m not bad, then what excuse do you have to spank me tonight?” 

This results in a chorus of outrage from the Roadhouse crew and Sam- who’s bitch face might be his most powerful yet. 

Dean laughs as he gets the his new bird into the perfectly clear blue sky.

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I say "dubious science", I mean I made my geology friends cry. I have taken so many liberties with the science of hurricanes, it's not even funny. 
> 
> Also- this was originally planned to be a lot longer. But since I'm a science geek (and this is my first fanfic) I got so lost in trying to make it accurate that I realised it turned into more of a journal article. So I scavenged to actual story part, took more liberties than a law student in a biology class and tried to make it exciting. 
> 
> I hope this is an okay gift, Galythia. 
> 
> On to some terms that might need defining:  
> (1) VFR: Visual Flight Rules are the flight rules that govern conducting the flight under visual conditions, meaning that the pilot looks out of the cockpit and sees their surroundings physically. This seems to be how most search and rescue aircraft operate.  
> (2) IFR: Instrument Flight Rules. Where the pilot uses the instruments in the cockpit to conduct the flight.  
> (3) Bairn is a Scottish term for a child. 
> 
> The title is from Skylar Grey's song "Clear Blue Sky".


End file.
